Strip Tease
by Citizenjess
Summary: Dooku learns the hard way just what Emperor Palpatine does to unwind. Implied slash. Rated higher for shirtless, sweaty Anakin flesh.


Written as a gag 'fic for babel on LiveJournal. Because geriatric Sith lords need love (read: hot man flesh), too.

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** Strip Tease**

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The strip club on the lower streets of Coruscant was infamous for the various debaucheries that took place therein. Dooku had not been there for many years, back when the shadier areas of the planet were not quiet as shady, and really had had no intention of returning, but his Master had suggested the spot for their meeting, and Darth Sidious was very particular.

Of course, that was not his title out in public – not yet, anyways. The true identity of his Master was currently on a need-to-know basis only, and with the Clone Wars raging, and spies and bounty-hunters everywhere, there were very few people who needed to know. So for now, Darth Sidious was simply Chancellor Palpatine, the highly respected government official, and their meeting at The Strip was just by chance.

He found the Chancellor in the V.I.P. area, seated in a plush armchair, sipping something dark and red from the slim glass pinched between nimble fingers. The stage before the convocation of seats was empty, the lights dimmed, but a voice sounded overhead that the "festivities would be beginning in a few moments".

"Excellent wine," Palpatine said by way of introduction, nodding at the seat to his right. Dooku sat down, only vaguely repulsed by the notion of how many of the club's other patrons had sat in this very chair and sullied it. He was a firm believer in needing to get his hands dirty to accomplish great things, but … as an aristocrat first and a Sith Lord second, the idea of literally dirtying his hands still made him rather uneasy.

He tapped his fingers on the armrest, knowing full well that his Master would get to their hidden agenda on his own time. He had never appreciated wasting time, and in all honesty, was not sure he would have been able to wait the decades required for a full-scale Sith takeover that Palpatine seemed willing to, were he at the tip-top of the chain-of-command. But he trusted his Master's judgment, even if he found the means that he went about accomplishing his goals a bit … odd.

"So," Palpatine drawled, after what seemed like a small eternity. "What have you got for me?" Dooku reached into the folds of his heavy cloak, fingering the small, nondescript, unlabelled disk before pulling it out and handing it to the other man. Palpatine's thin, icy fingers brushed his briefly, and he shivered.

"How does it look?" Palpatine's voice was low, his eyes betraying no emotion, but through the Force, Dooku could feel an undercurrent of sinister excitement nonetheless.

"Everything looks to be in order," he murmured back. "Plans made exactly to your specifications. It should be extraordinary when it's finally completed."

"Excellent." His Master pocketed the plans to the Death Star, tucking it into one of the many hidden pockets of his own robes. His chilly hand patted the back of Dooku's, and he resisted the urge to pull away. "You have done well."

"Thank you." They sat in silence, blinking when the harsh lights of the stage were turned on. "Do you come here often?" he asked cautiously, hoping it would not seem too out-of-line or like he was interrogating his Master.

But Palpatine just smiled his trademark thin-lipped grin. "When there is time. The act tonight is a personal favorite." His eyes flitted to the stage and Dooku's followed, the swell of seductive music now in the background. Dooku's own gaze widened as a young man strutted out, a thin, black garment slung hastily around his shoulders, begging to be stripped off. "Is that …?" he began.

"Mmm." Palpatine's eyes were fixated on the stage, where Anakin Skywalker had just shed the costume cloak, revealing a pair of black leather underwear that left very little to the imagination. A low rumbling of appreciation spread through the room as the young man began swiveling his hips along to the music.

Dooku would have been the first to admit that it was an attractive sight, but unlike the V.I.P. room's other patrons, his gaze was more on Anakin's arm than his crotch – his bionic arm, of course. To replace the real one that Dooku had cut off. It was encased in a leather sleeve, commonplace enough that one might have even suspected it was simply for fashion's sake, but Dooku knew better. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable here, and not just a little annoyed at his Master. Surely, Palpatine had to have known.

His apprehension increased when Skywalker spotted something in their general direction, continuing to dance seductively until he was practically sitting in Palpatine's lap (which, Dooku noted with vague disgust, the Chancellor certainly didn't seem to mind). "Sir," Anakin greeted, his skin flush and gently beaded with perspiration from the combination of movement and hot stage lights. His gaze flitted to Dooku, blue eyes glittering as they narrowed.

"Hello, my boy," Palpatine crooned appreciatively, his fingers wrapped around the armrests of his chair like a king. "I see you know my accomplice for the evening?"

"We've met," Anakin said shortly. He continued dancing, not wanting to break character, for which Dooku found himself secretly grateful. "Have important business here this evening, do you, Sir?" His voice was light, almost playful as he addressed the Chancellor.

Palpatine's hands came up, his palm resting briefly on Anakin's glistening flank. "And you as well," he answered, in the standard Senatorial fashion of not really answering at all. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of credits; Dooku watched, fascinated and a little dry-mouthed, as Anakin bent just so the Chancellor could slip them into the waistband of his skimpy undergarments. The older man's grin widened. "Whatever would your Master say?"

Anakin's laughter was soft, genuinely amused. "I imagine he would be quoting an awful lot of Jedi platitudes." Palpatine chuckled. Dooku shifted, wondering how long it was socially acceptable for club dancers to spend with one patron.

Fortunately, Anakin seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. "I'd better get back to entertaining the crowd," he said with a small sigh.

"Of course." Palpatine's hand slid away from where it had been very nearly cupping the boy's crotch; Dooku noted, too, that Anakin did not seem to have a problem with the Chancellor's icy fingers. The older man winked. "And don't worry, my dear boy: I won't tell your Master if you don't."

"My lips are sealed." Anakin slid silkily away, and Dooku let out what he hoped was a discreet exhalation of relief.

Eventually, his Master seemed ready to acknowledge his presence once more. "Enjoying the show?" he asked lightly, patting Dooku's arm with the same hand that had been only recently stroking Skywalker's thigh. He would burn these clothes after tonight.

"Oh, yes. Very much," he managed, and politely pretended not to notice the small, tented portion of the front of Palpatine's robes.


End file.
